


Sugar on her skin

by Blankdice



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), F/F, Tattoos, banter and something sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blankdice/pseuds/Blankdice
Summary: The gang finds an abandoned house to camp in and in the course of the evening the subject turns to tattoos, which means Jester has some showing off to do. Somehow, showing off to Beau feels different. Set vaguely post ep. 48ish, when they're back on solid ground and traveling through the empire.___“No shit, you too?” Beau said. “Why did you never say? Well come on, you can't say that and not expect us to want to see.”“Oh, we-ell,” Jester said, drawing out the word. “I am a tattoo artist, you know. It's basically required?” She twisted her fingers, stalling for time because all of the sudden all attention was on her and she didn’t know whether to bask or squirm. Her tattoos were pretty amazing and she liked showing them off, but they were also personal. And some of them were in places that, had they been on her mother, would have cost at least 20 gold pieces to look at.





	Sugar on her skin

**Author's Note:**

> After I wrote this I realised I completely forgot about the bathhouse scene so uh... let's pretend it was real steamy in there?

The house was empty and littered with little reminders that the people who'd lived here had left in a hurry. It took Fjord and Nott almost an hour of checking before they were willing to stay the night, which Jester thought was really unnecessary considering there were only three rooms in total and one of them was the entire ground floor. There wasn't even a basement, though they did find a few bottles of odd liqueurs in one of the cabinets over the oven. 

(They'd been seeing abandoned houses more often, now that the war was well and truly on. It was a sad sight, but not sad enough for them to turn down a roof for the night and some free booze.)

Once everyone agreed it was safe, they piled inside and scrounged up a trove of mismatched candles, sat around the flickering glow on blankets on the floor. There were only two chairs, so by unspoken agreement they had set those aside and made a little nest in the gloom, the candles on a metal dish in the center. There was no food left in the house, but they had rations and salvaged booze and there were a couple of real beds upstairs so Jester at least felt pretty good about it.

“So uh,” Beau was saying, cross legged on the floor with a bottle of something orange-flavoured in her lap. She must've felt good too, because she was sharing stories from her past. Mostly ones that involved her falling out of a window and on her face or punching monks in the jiggly bits, but it was still a rarity. “Yeah, that was the third time I tried to run away from the monastery and honestly, I'm surprised they didn't put me in a room with bars sooner."

Jester was watching her and as she did, she noticed something. On the back of Beau's neck, between her hairline and the edge of her top, peeking out when she gestured.

“Hey Beau,” she said. “How is your tattoo healing?”

“Oh my god, what?” Nott exclaimed. She paused her rifling through the booze stash and came scurrying over. “I didn't know you had a tattoo! Where is it?”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck. “Uh,” she went. “Just here, on my neck.”

Nott jumped up and let out an unidentifiable guttural sound. “Is it a wolf with an angry face?” She said. “Is it a big “fuck you” in fancy letters? Is it a picture of Tracy?” Nott laughed. “Remember Tracy? You were so much more likable as Tracy.”

“If you didn’t want to see, you could’ve just said,” said Beau. She pulled her jacket a little higher, hiding the tattoo.

“Come on Nott, that’s not very funny.” Jester frowned and leaned a little closer to Beau, fingers plucking at her neckline. Nott always denied it, but Jester could tell she didn’t like Beau. 

It didn’t make any sense, they were so similar. Loud but scared on the inside (and sometimes the outside), angry and always full of fire when it came to the things they cared about. They both had more secrets than the rest of them even knew, were slow to trust and slower to share. Maybe that was why they didn't always get along. Nott was probably Jester’s best friend, they were the best detective agency and Jester had never had a best friend unless she counted the Traveler which she probably shouldn’t since he was some sort of god probably and she was just Jester? And Nott was Nott, and her best friend, and times like these all she wanted for her best friend to get along with her… well, with Beau.

“Show us your tattoo,” Jester pulled her arm around Beau’s shoulder, smushed one cheek against hers. “You still want to see it, right?”

For a moment, she thought Nott was gonna double down. Her teeth were bared in what wasn’t quite a grin but then she met Jester’s eyes and said: “I'm sorry, that’s wasn’t very kind of me.” She twisted her hands in her scarf and let out another warbling scream, visibly vibrating with excitement. “Now show me!”

Jester laughed, looked sideways at Beau. Sometimes she forgot that people might not like to be hugged out of the blue, and Beau tended to be the least affectionate person of them all, except maybe Caleb who once shrieked when Jester tried to hook her arm through his. Still, Beau was smiling, looking a bit bewildered but nothing worse. A little sheepishly, Jester sat up and folded her hands in her lap.

“When did you even get it?” Nott asked.

“You know, the other day.” Beau pulled down her jacket first, then the back of her top and turned her back to the circle, letting everyone have a look. “A bit after Molly, you know. Jester did it for me.”

Jester reached out, carefully trailing the tattooed eye. “I had his big snake with the eyes and everything as an example. It's looking so good!”

“I guess I got it to remember him by.” Beau turned back around and even in the dim candle light Jester could see she was a little flushed. Embarrassed, maybe. “That's probably dumb.”

“No!” Jester waved her hands. “why would that be dumb? Because it's for Molly? That's not dumb, that's really nice. I think its really nice.”

“He'd have liked it,” Yasha said, quietly.

“Yeah, totally,” Jester said. “And it's so pretty on you. And now I'm not the only one with tattoos! I mean, apart from Molly, I knew about Molly, you know, it was kinda hard to miss.”

“No shit, you too?” Beau said. “Why did you never say? Well come on, you can't say that and not expect us to want to see.”

“Oh, we-ell,” Jester said, drawing out the word. “I am a tattoo artist, you know. It's basically required?” She twisted her fingers, stalling for time because all of the sudden all attention was on her and she didn’t know whether to bask or squirm. Her tattoos were pretty amazing and she liked showing them off, but they were also personal. And some of them were in places that, had they been on her mother, would have cost at least 20 gold pieces to look at.

But after all was said and done, these were her friends. The only friends she had. Fjord, who she had kissed that one time. Yasha who had sat still for an entire afternoon while Jester braided her hair. Caleb with the nimble hands and the excellent taste in terrible books, who didn't mind sharing one bit. Nott, who read those books with her. Beau, who--

Jester grinned and pulled at the clasps of her bodice. Go big or go home, right? 

“Whoa, uh” Beau went, but Jester was already wriggling out of her bodice.

She lifted the undershirt and pointed at her ribs, where forget-me-nots and poppies curled across each other, populated with frolicking unicorns. “This is for my mother and me, so I'll always have something to remember her by even when I'm far away. This was the second one I got, way before I even left Nicodranas.” She dropped the shirt and was about to bare her legs to show Beau pastrygeddon, when Nott scraped her throat.

“You weren't the only one,” she said. She ducked her head in that way Jester had come to recognise as feeling shy. Nott pushed at her leg wraps, shoving them down and away. “It's not as pretty as either of yours, but it still counts, right?” There on her ankle was a small potion bottle. It was too little for a lot of detail, but the linework on the bottle and the stopper was solid, suggesting crystal and cork. Dotwork suggested liquid sloshing inside.

“That's so sweet,” Jester said. She could see Nott ducking her head again, almost shrinking back from the candle light. “Hey,” Jester waved her hands, solidly focusing the attention of the group on her again. Across from her, Nott relaxed marginally. “How about I show you another one of mine? You show me yours, I show you mine, sort of thing?”

Next to her, Beau made a choking, snorting kind of noise.

“Here is my pastrygeddon,” Jester said. She stuck out her legs and unceremoniously shimmied out of her leggings. Across the circle of candle light, Fjord’s eyes went wide. She would’ve just rolled up the legs, but her thighs were too wide to get them up all the way without seriously pinching herself and when most of the ink was on her right thigh and all the way up her hip, that just wouldn’t do. 

Nott leaned in across the candles, looking both relieved and curious. Jester tugged the hem of her skirt up and gestured with a flourish. “As you can see, there are bear claws and muffins and little croissants with wings and over here,” she twisted her arm, “little sugar cookie soldiers with spears because it may be sweet but it's still pastrygeddon and they need to fight to stop the end of the world. Or maybe to start it, they could be taking over the world if they want to.”

“Holy shit, Jess.” Beau had scooted closer, leaning down to try and pick out all the details in the dim light. She was leaning on one hand and had edged so close that it was brushing up against Jester’s butt. “That's amazing, it's so tacky.”

“Do you like it?”

Beau grinned. “It's very sweet. Very you.”

Jester laughed, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt. She was showing her underwear a little, but that wasn’t so bad. It was red and shimmery, made of scrap fabric stolen from one of her mother's dresses, and she wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it. She smoothed her skirt back over her legs, hiding pastrygeddon from sight. Beau didn't move away, only sat up. She was close enough that Jester could feel her body warmth on her shoulder, or imagine she could in any case. 

“Is that another tattoo?” Beau asked. She was pointing at Jester's shoulder, where the neckline of her shirt had sagged.

Next to Nott, Fjord set down his schnapps. Caleb had dared him into trying it and despite everyone's expectations he'd quite liked it and was trying valiantly to empty the bottle. His hand wavered a little as he pointed to Jester. “Show me yours if I show you mine?”

Jester slapped her hand to her exposed skin, covering her third tattoo. She twisted, pressed her shoulder against Beau and fluttered her lashes. “You first, Oskar.”

Fjord laughed. He rolled up his sleeve and there it was; a ship's wheel. It was round, each spoke so straight it seemed to defy the curve of his arm. The center was an empty circle, broken only by the topmost spoke, which reached down to the very center of the whole piece. Something about it reminded Jester of an eye, blinking in the candle light.

Still leaning against Beau, she peeled her shirt off her shoulder. 

“It's a donut,” Beau said. “With sprinkles.” Jester could feel her breath against her forehead.

“And red icing,” Fjord said. 

“I have seven of them.” Jester looked up, fangs poking out as she grinned. “Would you like to see them?”

“Uh,” Beau went.

Yasha scraped her throat and said: “I'll do another trade.” In one motion, she pulled off one of her bracers. 

Jester had almost forgotten she'd been there, Yasha could be so quiet, sometimes she seemed almost apologetic for the space she took up in the world.

Yasha pulled the other glove off as well and stuck her arms out into the circle. She was usually wearing something that covered her arms between the elbow and wrist. Gloves or leather bracelets and bracers. 

That was probably why she’d never noticed the twin circlets of flowers. They were all sorts, in bright colours that stood out against Yasha’s pale skin. There were exotic flowers and wildflowers and flowers that most gardeners would have called weeds. They were uneven, some of them in different styles and some of them noticeably older than others.

“I’m thinking I’ll get a new one soon,” she said, quietly. Her eyes flicked to Jester.

“Okay, okay,” Jester said. “Tit for tat, right?” She pulled her shirt off her other shoulder, flicked her hair back. Entirely deliberately, she'd pulled the shirt down quite far, giving Beau (and everyone on that side of the circle) an eyeful of sideboob. Beau, who had been leaning against her, let go of her arm as if it burned.

“That's a funny joke,” said Nott. “A pun, very sophisticated. Hey, another donut!”

“Number two,” Jester said, running a finger around the donut tattooed on her other shoulder. It clashed with the first one and with the pink fabric she used as a chest wrap, but she had always been fond of wild colours and anyway, who was going to see her underwear? 

Her friends, apparently. And Beau. Something about that thought made her want to cover up again, or maybe the opposite entirely and run through fields outside the little house naked. 

Beau reached out, stopped and leaned back, one finger against the skin of Jester's back. “What's that one? I'll show you another one.”

“You have more tattoos?”

“Just one.”

“Oh my god, Beau, _show me_!”

Beau pulled away, her fingers curled around the waistband of her trousers. “It's really shit,” she muttered, “just so you know.” Her voice dipped and Jester had some trouble making out the rest of the embarrassed mumbling. Something about being “very young,” and “friend's cousin's basement.”

She pulled down the blue fabric to reveal a balled up hand on her hip, middle finger up. The lines were shaky and had bled in places. It had probably been done by an amateur, and not a very skilled one. Jester could just imagine little Beau, angry at the world and everything, sitting in a basement and feeling like a true rebel.

She could also imagine the absolutely unsanitary conditions, drunk teens egging each other on. As a tattoo artist, she disapproved. As a friend, she chortled and said: “That is so you, it's really great.”

“As I said, really shit,” Beau said, face turned away from Jester.

“Does it stand for anything?” Jester waved a hand, “Like sticking it to the man, you know? Being a rebel?”

“Actually I was just angry and I was trying to think of what would most offend my parents.”

Jester grinned. “That's what I said, a rebel!”

“That's a very generous way of putting it.” Beau smiled, little dry or maybe exasperated with Jester's endless optimism. The corners of her eyes wrinkled and for a moment Jester forgot that there was anyone else in the room. “So show me yours,” Beau said.

Jester leaned forward and lifted her undershirt. Her back was a maze of architecture and waves, parts of the Lavish Chateau tied up with birds and dogs and the seaside and a peaked door that stood ajar, a green curtain fluttering in the wind.

“It's beautiful,” Beau said, tracing the arches. She let out a triumphant bark of laughter. “Found a donut! Chocolate frosting and little marshmellows, that's number three.”

“You've almost seen half,” Jester said, and winked. 

“What about the rest?”

Jester dropped her shirt, fake-prim. She couldn't quite pull it off, she couldn't stop grinning. There were ladies she knew growing up who could fool the most insightful men, who could drink vinegar and make it look like wine, who could be the wildest temptress one moment and a blushing virgin the next. Jester had never ever been one of them. 

“Well, you don't have anything else to trade anymore, do you,” she said, “so I guess you'll never know.” She waited until Beau looked her in the eyes. Her hand was still on Jester's back, under the shirt, and it burned. It didn't burn half as much as Beau's eyes and she wished they were all alone, or maybe drowning. She already felt like she was drowning, only much hotter than that one time she had almost drowned. She preferred this kind of drowning. It was much better for her health.

Jester winked, and Beau laughed and pulled her hand away and just like that, the moment passed.

Later, after Fjord had gotten really very drunk and Caleb and Caduceus struggled to see him safely to bed, Jester stood in the hallway outside the little bedroom she and Beau had claimed to share and held her hand against the wood. It was dark on the landing, and quiet, and she felt her heartbeat in her throat. Fjord was asleep, judging by the fact that the slurred singing had stopped. Caleb had been reading, last she saw, and Yasha and Nott were downstairs settling in for the first watch.

She opened the door. Beau was on the single bed, fully clothed and twirling a set of beads over her head in the dim light of a candle.

For a moment, Jester considered barging in and hiding behind and endless stream of chatter, or grabbing her paints and going off to paint dicks all over the building even though she knew she’d probably be the one to clean it all up again tomorrow.

“Hey, Jess,” Beau said. She was so pretty, all angles and dark shadows and a smile that meant her guard was down at least a little.

Jester came up beside the bed before she could reconsider and pulled the front of her shirt down, far enough to show her whole entire cleavage, to show the hint of ink in the stretching neckline. She had to lean forward to get more or less to Beau's eye level, or at least to get her boobs there. She never put her bodice back on, so they were definitely right there.

“What the hell?” Beau said, sounding a little stunned. She looked up from where her nose was practically between Jester's boobs. 

She could see the uncertainty in the way her eyebrows drew together. Beau's eyes kept trying to dart down before she caught herself. Her fingers twitched on the sheets.

Jester grinned and said: “Wanna see another donut?”

Slowly, sweetly, Beau returned the grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If I find the urge, I may write what happens after the fade out.


End file.
